


If you leave, when I go, find me in the shallows

by RasTroubleChild



Series: The creature in my bloodstream chews me up (so I can feel something) [3]
Category: American Gods (TV), American Gods (TV) RPF, American Gods - Neil Gaiman
Genre: F/M, straight up emotional flailing, the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 07:44:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13003074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RasTroubleChild/pseuds/RasTroubleChild
Summary: Laura Moon shouldn't complain about feeling stuff again. But it's fucking hard work not to.





	If you leave, when I go, find me in the shallows

**Author's Note:**

> I swore only to write fics that make sense as stand-alone. Yet, here we are, kids! No one stands a chance at following this without reading at least part two. So yay, great job, me! 
> 
> It's also somehow pure fluff, as well as my Christmas gift to V! Love your pretty face.
> 
> Happy Holidays, Happy new year and Hakuna Matata, everyone!

Laura Moon  _ feels _ fine. For the most part. 

After several long hot baths, scrubbing off layers of dead skin (literally) she finds the new unmarred - perfect. A miracle on all accounts: returning from the dead. 

 

"Here," Audrey slides a steaming mug over to her, settling - effortlessly wholesome - on the stool opposite Laura with a glass of ice tea. 

 

But Laura can't help the prick of jealousy, no matter how uncalled for, at how _comfortable_ Audrey looks in just a t-shirt and yoga pants. Because Laura's wearing a sweater, over flannel pyjamas and thick socks in  _ mid-summer _ and is still followed around by this underlying chill, right beneath her skin - constantly uneasy, like waiting for a shiver, that never quite manifests. 

 

"Thank's," Laura makes herself look at her former best friend, tries out a grateful smile. Her cheeks ache with it. 

 

Aubrey regards her, not doubtful maybe but reasonably sceptical and then, "Goddess of what?"

 

"You're going to have to be more specific," Laura says dry, cupping her mug. "Turns out there are a lot of gods."

 

"You said a Goddess brought you back to life. Which one?"

 

"Uh. I was-- dead." she shrugs, chews her lip to think it over, yet it still feels like a lie when she says, "I don't remember anything," even though she  _ doesn't _ , not really.

 

"The Leprechaun - Sweeney, right?" Audrey shakes her head as if she doesn't quite believe the words coming out of her mouth. Considering everything, she's probably as cool with all of this as a person could be. "He didn't tell you?" 

 

"No," and that, too, feels unfairly like a lie. "He's an asshole." 

 

Aubrey laughs softly, this pretty, husky sound that Laura always envied and loved in equal parts. "I don't know. From what I could tell, he seemed worried about you. I told him to get lost, but he just kept calling." She clicks her tongue, "he finally convinced me by threatening to use the only other number he had. Your Mums? So yeah, I couldn't do that to her." 

 

The sudden tears pricking Laura's eyes are becoming a more and more familiar feeling. "I'm so sorry you had to bail me out. Not-- I'm sorry for everything," she clarifies. "I'm a fucking mess."

 

It's been two days since Mad Sweeney abandoned Laura at the motel and somehow she'd still expected it to be him hours later when there was a knock at the door. But Sweeney doesn't knock - Laura should know. Instead, Audrey had found her like that, still a bit dirty and half-naked, somewhat disoriented and so hungry. But at least the fucking Leprechaun had enough decency to call for backup before ditching her. The latter doesn't hurt in the slightest, she tells herself. 

 

"Stop apologising," Audrey is saying, rubbing her temples. "Yes, you screwed up - fucking catastrophically, but it's a little insulting that you honestly expect me not to know." When Laura doesn't respond, for sheer lack _of_ , Audrey leans forward to meet her eyes. "Do you remember when your Nan died? You'd been so close  _ she left you her house-- _ and still, you acted like you didn't give a shit," her smile is small, sad, reminiscent, and something uncomfortable, like hope, blooms in Laura's chest. "I was your best friend, Laura. I've known you since high school; every single time when you were heartbroken, I knew. You're not as mysterious as you think you are."

 

Laura's never been good at  _ dealing _ with emotion either, doesn't know where to go with it at the best of times but after dying and coming back, it's only gotten worse. Any composure she once had has disappeared into the night; she's prone to  _ tears _ now, ugh. 

 

And Audrey took her home, into the same house she used to share with her husband; the same husband Laura fucked behind her back for over a year, that's dead because of her. And right now all she wants to do is to kind of just sink into the ground. Whether or not Audrey can ever forgive her - it's fair to say she shouldn't - this level of kindness is overwhelming either way.

 

Laura opens and closes her mouth a few times but is saved by the bell - so to speak - when the phone rings. Although she quickly realises, it's only kept her from one potential meltdown when Audrey returns, phone in hand, and her heart stutters. "It's for you."

 

Laura makes herself take it. "Hello."

 

"Laura?" his voice sounds the same - still more familiar to Laura this, echoing,  _ tinny-way _ than in person. But he's alive. That's something.

 

"Shadow," she breathes. The relief is staggering. "Holy shit." 

 

Shadow huffs into the speaker - like he did all the times calling her from prison. "You could say that. It's good to hear your voice." They stew in silence for a beat; Laura stunned and so fucking choked up, until he clears his throat awkwardly, "I wanted to make sure you know that I didn’t just leave you."

 

Laura remembers saying - ‘ _ he doesn't want me anymore _ ,’ and that part stings less now than she would have expected. 

 

"I was looking for you; I  _ found _ you between all those--  whatever the fuck those things were? But I couldn't get to you in time. Next thing, I was waking up in that house." He lowers his voice, "Wednesday had something to do with it, but-- Bast, I'm lucky she was there to follow him." There's something a little off at the mention of the other woman, another Goddess no-less - Laura only met her once and was struck most with how spellbound Bast seemed by Sweeney's coin-tricks - but it's too quick to catch before he adds, "shit, Laura, I thought you were dead."

 

"I'm fine." 

 

"I figured," he mumbles, suddenly a little tense, "since Mad Sweeney demanded I call you." 

 

"Sweeney's with you?"

 

This pause is longer like Shadow is calculating something. "He's no doubt lurking here somewhere."

 

Laura counts to three, to the infuriating beat of relief -  _ he's okay he's okay he's okay _ \- she's trying to ignore and keeps her own voice even when she admits, "if it weren't for him, I'd be dead. Still or-- again." 

 

While she doesn't want to hurt Shadow, can't yet address the reason why  _ she _ thinks this might, it would be worse not to tell him; too close to the way it felt last time she had a pulse - vague guilt to cut through her numbness, a thing to feel when there was none. She sees that now and has no desire to relive it.

 

"I'm glad you're safe," says Shadow, easing her mind as if he knows what she's thinking. He probably does; apparently, everyone knows how to read her and is somehow willing to spare her feelings. Maybe this is redemption, maybe dying and coming back to life can offer that. "I've gotta go. You just stay where you are, okay? I have to see this through." It carries an undeniable air of finality, and even though she can't quite place the sudden flare of anger at being asked to stay away from House on the Rock - apart from always having bristled against being told what to do - she decides it best to ignores that, too. Because, while it sounds final, it doesn't feel like the end, not exactly,  A new beginning maybe, for them both, "I'm sorry, Laura."

 

"I know," she agrees right before the line goes dead, "so am I, Shadow," and actually means it for the first time.

 

*

It's later that evening when Laura, inevitably, loses her stubborn internal battle. 

She's lying awake in Audrey’s colour-coordinated guest-bed, in the immaculately decorated room, still debating whether to just get up and drink the tumbler of whiskey perched on the windowsill herself - because the whole thing feels incredibly dumb - when she hears him climb through.

 

"Wow," she whispers into the dark. "That's so fucking creepy."

 

" _ You _ summoned  _ me _ ." Sweeney points out, not unreasonable, his accent resounding in the small room and to her surprise, he keeps his voice low. "No offence, but as much joy it brings me to be insulted by you, tonight I'm going to respectfully decline."

 

Laura shifts onto her back, flicking on the bedside lamp to take him in. He looks exhausted, rougher than usual. And, as he downs the drink in one go, she notices, even in dim lighting, the angry bruise blooming on the side of his face. 

 

"I see you're still making friends," she winces as she says it. Laura doesn't always mean to; being an asshole to Mad Sweeney comes completely natural. 

 

"Oh, that?" he glares menacingly - the effect slightly ruined by the swelling - but doesn't hesitate before sinking down on the bed next to her and casually swinging up his legs as if he weren't ruining the covers. "Just how old friends show affection."

 

Laura's stomach lurches as the mattress groans under his weight. Because she recalls, with a sudden pang of guilt, how often she hurt Sweeney herself, physically and otherwise; how much they hurt each other. "Shadow?" 

 

"Shadow," Mad Sweeney confirms and chuckles tiredly. "It's been a long time comin'. I might've wound him up a wee bit," he adds.

 

"You look like shit."

 

"Aye. I feel it," Sweeney coughs, looking anywhere but Laura, "why did ya call for me?"

 

There are plenty good reasons, objectively speaking she's  _ aware _ of questions that need answering, including but not limited to, why Sweeney left without telling her, why back to that hell-hole in Wisconsin, but-- he's so  _ close _ , solid, and the warmth radiating from him draws her like a light; the hollow ache that made her reach out in the first place, growing only more intense. How easy it is then, to forget about everything else when she can just roll over, driven by instinct alone, to tuck herself into Sweeney’s side.

 

He freezes instantly, and that’s tough shit for him because, honestly, it feels so fucking  _ good _ , all of her does - for the first time since her death - that she’d be willing to use force if he tries to shake her off. 

 

But before it escalates or Laura has a chance to lose her nerve, she fills her lungs with this weird, giddy, sensation and offers the only explanation that comes to mind, "you're warm." 

 

He relaxes gradually, his arm slowly coming up around her back. "Still cold?" he asks, voice coming out a little gruff and Laura shivers - can't blame it on temperature alone. 

 

"Not anymore."  

 

That's just it, isn't it? Since they met - the playing a crucial part in her murder aside - it was also him who kept her from being stagnant, encouraged her to rethink instead of being stuck in a single-track trance. Kept her rotting-self company, challenging her with endless bickering and testing her patience. 

 

Whether it was about the coin became irrelevant a long time ago. Because Sweeney gave that up; Laura remembers now, sudden and a bit hazy, how he fought for her to keep it, too. How he took a dagger to his heart to save her when she was  _ already _ dead. 

 

And when she lifts her head, resting her chin on his chest to repeat Audrey's question under her breath "Goddess of what?" the answer is already there, has been, nameless but palpable, and it's entirely too much. 

 

"Hm?" he glances down at her, feigning innocence, but there's tension all through his body. So  aggressively nonchalant, she barely resists the urge to strangle him.

 

"You know who I mean," she presses, instead. "You don't always have to be such a dick."

 

"Gotta keep up standards," Sweeney quips but it falls flat. He deflates. "It ain't what it seems."

 

"So  _ explain _ ."

 

"She didn't act out of the goodness of her heart, okay?" he whisper-shouts. 

 

"I swear to all the fucking gods," Laura warns, shoves his arm, "don't be a wuss!" and he snaps, "fine!" 

 

He heaves air in through his nose, nostrils flaring. "Of Love," he tells her defeated, runs a hand over his face. "Bilquis is the goddess of Love. Fuck."

 

Even though it's not a surprise, it still comes as such a shock Laura swears her ears are ringing.

 

"She saw an opportunity. A living sacrifice," he's explaining, apparently just powering through and getting more frustrated as he goes. "Oh, she's getting plenty out of this." 

 

Laura sobers, swallows hard, "so what, she took your coin?"

 

His sudden bark of laughter startles her more than anything. "No. Uh--" Cautiously, as if expecting her to lash out, he takes her wrist, carefully guiding her hand to lay on her heart; taps his own chest with a finger. "She split it."

 

Laura blinks at him, the embodiment of cat-got-the-tongue as the information sinks in and her eyes flit back and forth between his hand and hers, but then, "wow, okay. Fine," this time she has to count to ten. "I don't get it, she gains, what even-- _power_? By us being bound somehow?"

 

"We’re both cursed to believe in her," he nods, cocks his head to one side, considering her. "That's probably also why you're less inclined to hit me and more," he gestures at their forms pressed together with a sweep of his free hand, "tactile now."

 

This time, it's Laura's turn to freeze, only a split second but he notices.

 

"Christ, nothin' like that!" he swears. "I'm a Leprechaun."

 

If there's anything to be sure of, it's that, at some point, between dying the first time and returning the second, she's come to trust Mad Sweeney more than most people on earth.

 

"You can't take what isn't freely given," she concludes for him. Which means cuddling up to Mad Sweeney, seeking him out, may have been  _ encouraged _ by, but exists outside of, the curse. It's her  _ choice _ . Though when it comes anything akin to feelings, Laura Moon, the adult she is, knows only one way to deal - she rolls her eyes. "Don't I know it." 

 

The pride in her reciting and  _ believing _ in his values registers on his features clear as day. He looks nowhere near as awful as he did a minute ago, either. Laura figures it all makes sense, considering, and can't imagine letting go even if she's not ready to hold on. "I'm coming this time. To House on the Rock."

 

"Don't expect anythin' less," he mutters without missing a beat, huffs a little bitter. "Your husband threatened my life if I were to bring you back there. So-- just like old times."

 

Laura wants to correct him, tell him she isn't going for Shadow, or to whip a certain Viking-god's ass, not for that alone anyway, but with everything hanging in the air between them, the words die on her tongue.

"Now if you don't mind." Sweeney jostles her off as if getting ready to leave, but, "move it," he commands like she once did. "I might as well get some shut-eye first." He scoots down until his head hits the pillow, stretches out, waiting for her. And when Laura nestles in, he pulls her close enough her ear rests near his heart. She can hear it clearly now, as she closes her eyes, they beat in sync.

 

But Mad Sweeney picks his moments well, of course, and offers her an out by burying his nose in her hair, and announcing, "you best not drool all over me."

 

"Fuck you, Mad Sweeney," she hides a smile in his shirt, is sure he can tell.

 

And a feeling of contentment crashes over her because, "aye," his voice rumbles gloriously through both of them, words skewed to mean something a little different. "Fuck you too, Laura Moon."

**Author's Note:**

> Anything you can do, I can write platonic? I found my brand, apparently. I'm not sure when for, but there's another instalment floating around in the ether of my mind. Thank you all so much for Kudos and comments. They breathe life into my creative flow.


End file.
